


First Time

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-18
Updated: 2005-10-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Tonks knows this is definitely not what Professor McGonagall had in mind when she asked her to be Harry





	First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

: This is my very first NC-17 rated fic... please be gentle

Dedications: A big thank you to my beta readers, who read parts of this at different times: ms_potter, guardian_writer, abigail89 and archchancellor. Thanks to bobbypin, ixchelmala and you for the encouragement. Must give a shout out to watchful_entity, who inspired me to try my hand at smut, and the denizens of the Bad Place. You know who you are. 

 

He is lying on his stomach, watching her. She is explaining something about the importance of concentration and focus, but he is too busy watching her lips move to comprehend. He briefly wonders if they are really her lips, but it doesn’t really matter because he likes them all the same. He thinks about how they are probably very soft and imagines what it would be like to find out for sure. The thought makes his face burn slightly, and he looks at the floor, embarrassed.

 

“Harry?” she asks. He looks up at her again. She tilts her head slightly and eyes him with a look of mild concern. One corner of her mouth is slightly turned up; a half smile plays across her lips. Yes, he is convinced now, they must be very soft.

 

“Yes, Tonks?” he answers, his voice an octave or two higher than he’d really like.

 

“It looked like your attention wandered off there for a second. Do you want to take a break?” She sits down beside him on the bed; her thigh brushes against his arm as she does so. She places a hand lightly on his shoulder. He can feel the warmth through his t-shirt. It is very nice, and he has a brief irrational fear that she might sense the indentation a certain part of his anatomy is now making in the mattress.

 

“Er, no,” he says, this time concentrating on keeping his voice in a lower register. “Let’s go on.”

 

She bites her lower lip and considers him for a moment. She cocks a perfectly arched eyebrow, and looks a bit incredulous. “You sure?” she asks. “Is there something on your mind, something you’d like to talk about?”

 

There are many things he’d like to talk about, and she is very easy to talk to. Easier than Ron and Hermione in some ways, but the only thing on his mind at the moment are her lips. He doesn’t want to talk about that. About how he’d like to test his hypothesis. About how he wonders what it would be like to kiss her...

 

***

 

She comes to visit him twice a week. The first time was only to check on him, to make sure his odious relatives were treating him properly. His fat walrus of an uncle had been bellowing about a haircut before noticing her presence in the front hall. Later Harry explained that it was useless, that it would only grow back straight away. That his aunt had taken her shears and razed his entire head but for a bit of fringe once, and that he’d awoken the next morning, his hair exactly as it had been before. That was how she discovered he too was a Metamorphmagus. When she approached Professor Dumbledore about the matter, he referred her to McGonagall who promptly placed her as an instructor on Harry’s roster of summer lessons. She was informed that the lessons were to prepare Harry for a future career as an Auror, but she now suspects they are really to prepare him for a final confrontation with Voldemort. The thought sickens her.

 

Harry leads her up to his bedroom, the only room in the Dursley household she feels at ease in. It is comfortably disheveled. Lived in. Today his aunt and uncle have business in London, and his cousin makes himself scarce as usual. Harry tells her the younger Dursley is scared shitless of her. She finds this hysterical, though she is pleased to have Harry all to herself. Maybe a little too pleased, and pleased for reasons she isn’t quite ready to admit.

 

He is no longer The Boy Who Lived to her. He is Harry. He is real. He is too young to have the weight of the wizarding world upon his shoulders, but he is the only one who has the strength to bear it. He is sweet, but has a surprisingly biting sense of humor. He likes chocolate frogs and Quidditch and wants to be an Auror someday. She hopes he makes it. She wants to hold him, to protect him. Yet, she knows that he is the only one who can protect them all.

 

He looks a little haggard, but is happy to see her. Yesterday was Occlumency, and it looks as though Snape has taken a lot out of him. She silently curses Snape. She knows the lessons are necessary, but seeing the effects greatly disturbs her. She is an Auror, and very little disturbs her anymore.

 

 

***

 

He is surprised at how much he can tell her. Unlike Ron, she is willing to listen. Unlike Hermione, she does not pry. She’s fun. She makes him laugh. He likes to think he makes her laugh too. She’s in the Order and a fully trained Auror, but she doesn’t treat him like he is not. He likes that about her. He also really likes her lips.

 

Today her hair is straight and black and shoulder length. She wears it like another woman might wear a scarf. It is an accessory. It makes him wonder about the rest of her. What is really her, what is... not? He also wonders how much of himself he might change when he can, when he gets good enough. He knows one thing he will be changing for certain.

 

He worries a lot about the future. That is, assuming he has a future. He worries about his friends. He worries that Voldemort might hurt Hermione or Ron in order to get to him. He worries about Professor Lupin, alone at Grimmauld Place. He worries about Tonks and the work she is doing for the Order. He worries about whether or not he will do well enough in school to become an Auror. He worries he may not live long enough to find out. He worries he might die a virgin.

 

“What’s on your mind, Harry?” she asks, as he opens his bedroom door for her.

 

“Oh, not much,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and trying to adopt an air of nonchalance. “The usual... the future, death, sex, Voldemort.”

 

She laughs. “I hope the future doesn’t include sex with Voldemort.” She has a nice laugh. It makes her eyes crinkle up around the edges and creates dimples in her cheeks that perfectly frame her lips. He tries not to think too much about her lips.

 

***

 

They chat for a while about the latest work the Order is doing. Strictly speaking, she isn’t supposed to tell everything she knows, but she does so anyway because she feels he has a right to the information. She forgets sometimes how young he is. He has seen so much. He has already escaped Voldemort four times, more than even the best of those in her profession. How many escapes does he have left in him?

 

“Tonks?” He is looking at her, a bit bemused.

 

“Er, sorry about that Harry,” she says, returning his smile, and reigning in the urge to hug him.

 

“I’ve been practicing that hand thing you showed me last time. I think I’ve got the hang of it,” he says, holding out his hands for her. He has really nice hands. Long, elegant fingers. Good for catching the Snitch... good for gripping a broomstick... good for... She tries to banish the thought from her mind. .

 

“Let’s see it,” she says, fighting back a naughty grin and an even naughtier thought.

 

His beautiful, fine boned hands become old, craggy and knotted before her eyes. Will they ever look this way on their own, without Metamorphmagus abilities, but with time, she wonders? She gently takes his hands in hers to examine them more closely, turning them over, running her thumbs gently over the age spots and wrinkles. Without warning, they change back, but she doesn’t let go. Her fingers are now caressing smooth, unmarred skin.

 

“You have such nice hands,” she says, without thinking.

 

“Er, thank you,” he says, not taking his hands away. “You have nice lips.”

 

She looks up in surprise. She can see herself, partially reflected in his glasses. She can see herself as he sees her...

 

***

 

She is looking up at him, her lips slightly parted in a silent ‘oh!’. He doesn’t know what to do or think, but he is not going to be the one to let go. He’s not sure if he’s breathing or not, but it hardly seems to matter. She thinks he has nice hands, and she’s not letting go either.

 

Without a word, she slowly brings one of his hands to her lips and kisses it softly. His breath catches in his throat. Her lips are very soft, softer than he had imagined. She looks at him, shyly, as if asking permission to continue. He doesn’t protest.

 

An intense heat swells up inside of him, and he closes his eyes, taking in the sensation of her lips, brushing across his finger tips. For a moment he fears he is dreaming, but when he opens his eyes, she’s still there. He’s not sure what he should do. This is something he has thought about, dreamed about late at night, his hand finding its way beneath the waistband of his shorts, working clumsily until he finds release, those lips... but this is different. He’s afraid of screwing up, of making a fool of himself, of making her think he’s just kid.

 

Kiss her, you fool. The voice screams inside his skull. She’s looking at him expectantly. Pushing back the fear and doubt, he grasps her wrists and places her palms firmly on his chest. He cups her heart shaped face in his hands, and his lips make contact with hers. Softly, tentatively he kisses her. It is better than he imagined. When she still doesn’t pull away, he deepens the kiss. Waves of warmth and brightness and electricity pulse through him. Her mouth is wonderfully sweet and delicious. This is nothing like kissing Cho.

 

***

 

She knows this is definitely not what Professor McGonagall had in mind when she asked her to be Harry’s tutor. Is it really so wrong? His kisses are so strong, intense... powerful. When he kisses her, he’s just Harry. Nothing else really matters.

 

Her hands are on his chest. She can feel his heart beating wildly through his thin t-shirt. She can feel his pectoral muscles, lean and strong from Quidditch and DA practice. Her hands find their way down, down to his stomach. Her fingers fumble their way beneath his t-shirt. She wants to feel his skin. He shudders at her touch.

 

Those beautiful hands... they caress her face, her neck, her shoulders, her back... Her own hands explore his bare chest and stomach. She wants to explore all of him. She wants to follow that faint trail of hair beneath his belly button, follow it beneath his jeans...

 

“Harry...” she gasps, his dark green eyes stare into hers. “I – I don’t think...”

 

His mouth covers hers again, muting her protest. She finds herself drowning in another kiss. Sixteen year olds do not kiss like this... twenty-six year olds do not kiss like this. This is nothing she has ever experienced before. It is as if he is devouring her whole. Her lips are deliciously raw, bruised even, but she craves more. More than kisses.

He pulls her roughly against him. His body is warm and very solid. Something hard and insistent is pressed against her hip. He moans into her mouth as she gently sucks on his lower lip. Those beautiful hands have found their way beneath her top...

 

***

 

Her skin is so soft and smooth. It smells like a mix of soap and jasmine. He’s never touched a girl like this before. It is so new and strange and wonderful. Skin against skin. He doesn’t think he could ever tire of it 

 

She sucks gently on his lower lip, sending a shockwave through him. His cock struggles against his jeans, trying to break free. Her fingers are digging into his back. Her breasts are pressed against his chest. His hands fumble up her spine, searching for the clasp to her bra. He doesn’t really know how these things work, but he knows he wants desperately to cup her breasts in his bare hands.

 

She stops him for a moment, reaching behind her and unclasping it for him. But, before he can reach for her again, she is pulling his t-shirt over his head. She carelessly tosses it across the room, and begins planting soft, wet kisses on his chest and stomach. His hands find their way to silky black hair... silky black hair... hers?

 

He stops her for a moment. Right now he wants to know more than ever before what is really her. He wants to see what she really is, what she really looks like. He wants desperately for the lips that are sending electric thrills through his body to really be hers, not a trick. He wants her.

 

“Tonks...” She stops and looks up at him. “Stop... just a moment...”

 

“Harry?”

 

“I – I have to know,” he says. “What... what is really you?”

 

She looks at him curiously for a moment, then smiles. “I am really me.”

 

“No... I mean your hair, face, your lips... what do you really look like?” he feels a little silly for asking, but he has to know.

 

Without a word, she closes her eyes and screws up her face in concentration. When she opens them again, the only difference he notices right away is her hair. It is short, curly and a coppery chestnut. His eyes fall hungrily upon her lips.

 

They are the same.

 

***

 

He seems relieved to see that she doesn’t look much different. When she first discovered her abilities, she did toy with making herself prettier, taller, more interesting, but found it made it difficult for people to get to know her. Unless she is involved in an operation, she stays mostly the same. Well, except her hair... she never quite grew out of that.

 

“For you, Harry, I am always me,” she murmurs into his neck, enjoying the way his body shivers slightly.

 

“Good,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands again, running a thumb lightly across her lips. She takes it into her mouth, sucking gently, swirling her tongue around the soft pad. His head tilts back, and soft moan escapes his lips. His free hand has found its way beneath her top again.

 

She gasps when his fingers make contact with the underside of her breast. His other hand leaves her face, and struggles awkwardly with her top. She helps him pull it up over her head, and it drops soundlessly to the floor. Her nipples are painfully stiff, and she aches to have his hands on her again.

 

His eyes are wide and his breathing is ragged. His hands tremble slightly as they gently cup her breasts. His thumbs circle her taut nipples and she has to grasp his lightly muscled upper arms to in order to steady herself against the electrifying jolt it sends through her. A fire has erupted between her legs, and she knows there is only one thing that can put it out.

 

***

 

He is enthralled with her breasts. He has never seen actual breasts up close. They are soft and springy and feel so delectably smooth. Her eyes are sealed shut and her fingers are digging into his arms. He leans forward and his lips find hers again. Hungrily he explores her mouth with his tongue. He can’t believe his luck, and wonders what in the world she sees in him.

 

She tears her mouth away from him, panting. Her lips are swollen, raw. Her face is slightly scratched and her chestnut curls cling damply to her neck and forehead. He likes what he has done to her.

 

“Harry...” she gasps. “Are you... “

 

“Yes?” he murmurs, and takes one of her delicious erect nipples into his mouth.

 

“Are you...” her question melts into a soft moan, and she feebly attempts to push him away. “Are you sure we shouldn’t stop... stop while we can still...”

 

He doesn’t want to stop. The last thing he wants in the entire world, including some of the nastier things Voldemort is capable of, is for this to end. “But I don’t want to stop...” he says, taking her other nipple in his mouth. His erection has become painful and is leaking into his shorts.

 

“I... I don’t want to take advantage of you,” she manages weakly, as his tongue dances along the space between her breasts. “I’m your teacher, I’m supposed to.... McGonagall....”

 

“Then teach me...” he says, stumbling backwards onto the bed, pulling her with him.

 

***

 

There are many, many things she wants to teach him.

 

She lands on top of him. The hardness within his jeans is digging into her stomach. His face is red, his glasses are askew and his hair is wilder than ever. He is so sweet and young and innocent, yet... not. He has seen things more horrible than even she can imagine. He is a strange, beautiful mix of man and boy. She is torn between the desire to protect him from the world and the need to ravish him senseless.

 

She straddles his hips, pinning him to the bed. She leans down, planting chaste kisses on his cheeks and forehead as her nipples graze his chest. He groans and bucks against her. His hands find her hips, and he pulls her pelvis savagely into him.

 

“Tonks... please...” he begs. She doesn’t give in. Not yet.

 

His fingers find their way to her nipples. He tweaks them to the point of pain, as she sucks viciously on his neck. Sweet, sweet innocent Harry... what has she done to him? What has he done to her? She knows it is too late to turn around, too late to take it back. It cannot be undone.

 

She pulls away from him, letting her fingers trail over his chest and arms to those beautiful hands... her undoing. They are trembling. With a small kiss to each, she lets all the guilt and shame of what she is about to do ebb out of her.

 

She reaches for his glasses, and begins to gently remove them from his face. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, stopping her.

 

“No,” he whispers. “I want to see...”

 

***

 

Her mouth is on his abdomen. Her tongue teases his belly button, and then works its way down. Her lips come together in a magnificent pout, and she blows softly across his lower belly, across the faint trail of hair that only appeared two summers ago. Her cool breath on his skin makes the heat of his throbbing sex all the more intense. His balls are tight and full, begging for release.

She digs her fingers into his thighs, and covers the bulge in his jeans with her mouth. This time her breath is hot and wet, and it is all he can do to keep from crawling out of his skin. Slowly, so slowly, she reaches for the zipper to his jeans. Her delectable breasts are hovering inches above his stomach. She is looking at him, her smile is teasing.

 

“Harry...” she breathes, licking her lips.

 

He can only moan in response. He is beyond comprehensible speech. She plants a few more wet kisses as she gently unbuttons his jeans and lowers his zipper. He raises his hips up off the bed, and she grips his belt loops, sliding his jeans down to his ankles. He kicks them away unceremoniously; he’s never been more relieved to remove a piece of clothing in his life.

 

Instead of removing his boxer shorts, she straddles him once more. She leans down and kisses him deeply. Without his jeans to get in the way, he can feel how hot she is, how her knickers are completely soaked through and are now leaking through his thin, cotton shorts. He slides his hands beneath her skirt, following her thighs until his fingers find the source of the heat and damp. Now it is her turn to moan.

 

***

 

His fingers tease her through her wet knickers, and she moans into his mouth. Less than an inch of space and scant fabric separates them. She knows if she gives in now, it will be over all too soon. She wants to draw it out, savor it. This is her sweet, sweet Harry; she wants this to last forever.

 

But wait... when did he become her Harry? The Boy Who Lived... public property of the entire wizarding world? She’s not really sure, and she really doesn’t care, because right now he is hers. Completely and totally hers. She pulls back, sitting up on her knees. He is tugging at her skirt, his fingernails are leaving angry red marks on her thighs, but she just wants to look at him for a moment, memorize how he is right now, burn it into her memory... just in case.

 

With one fluid motion, his boxer shorts are somewhere on the other side of the room. He is completely, deliciously naked. She leans down, kissing his hips and thighs. Nipping, licking, teasing with her lips and tongue, she taunts him. His knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the bed. Her breasts brush against his hardness, sending him into convulsions.

 

Tenderly, she wraps her fingers around him and feels him stiffen further within her grasp. Slowly, she teases him, delighting in the way he reacts to her. His eyes are wide, watching her hands move up and down his shaft. She smiles at him. He smiles back. He has a very nice smile.

 

***

 

His whole body is begging for release, but it doesn’t come. She teases him, she brings him to the edge and back and back again. He is completely at her mercy. The sun is beginning to set, and the light coming through his window is painting her in dappled honey. He is sure it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

 

She leans down over him, her lips, those wonderful lips, graze him, tantalize him. Her tongue works its way along the underside of his shaft, bringing almost to the brink. He wants to feel his cock in her mouth, he wants to feel her soft, full lips wrapped around him. Instead she works her way up his body again, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses.

 

He grabs her arms, pulling her roughly upwards until her face is above his. His fingers tangle in her hair, and he kisses her hard and deep. When she pulls away, she is breathless.

 

“Harry --” she whispers.

 

He cuts her off with another kiss. His right hand reaches beneath her skirt, groping until he finds her knickers. He slips a finger gently into her warm, wet folds, caressing her inside. She moves against his hand, moaning softly into his neck. He’s not really sure what he’s doing, but he can tell she really likes it.

 

***

 

She is really close, but she stops him, pulling his hand away. She’s not quite ready to lose control. What control she has left, that is. Her knickers have somehow worked their way down around her knees and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. They are tight, constraining. She tears them away, making a hurried mental note to check for rips later.

 

His beautiful hands reach for her, but she pins them down at his sides. She settles between his slim, muscular thighs. His cock is straining towards her, which makes her smile.

 

“It has a mind of its own,” he says, sounding adorably sheepish.

 

“That’s ok, Harry,” she says. “What would you like me to do?”

 

He bites his lower lip and looks away from her.

 

“Would you like me to do this?” she asks, teasing the head of his cock with her tongue. He doesn’t answer at first. He’s holding his breathe, holding back, and she knows she has to be very, very careful. After a moment, he looks at her and nods, exhaling very slowly.

 

“Yes,” he gasps, his eyes dark and wide and watching her with fascination.

 

She teases him, plays with him. Delights in giving him what no one else has given him before. She takes him to the edge and pulls him back again before he has a chance to fall. As long as this lasts, he’s mine, she thinks selfishly, but without remorse. He’s safe and warm and mine.

 

***

 

He keeps thinking it will all be over any minute and Tonks will know he’s just a stupid kid after all. Except... it isn’t all over, and she always stops at just the right time. Maybe she does know and she just... but it doesn’t really matter.

 

Finally, she stops and she just looks at him. He feels like he should say something, but he isn’t sure what, exactly. He wants her very, very badly. He wants her so badly that it hurts. He can hardly think anymore, but his body screams ‘NOW!’

 

“Tonks... please...”

 

As she lowers herself over him, he wonders briefly about anti-conception spells and whether or not the neighbors can hear his heart pounding against his rib cage and what if it’s all over too fast and maybe he’s just not enough and maybe...

 

Things are just perfect.

 

The world is suddenly very small and very warm and very wet and very ALIVE. She goes slowly, which he is grateful for. His hands are shaking slightly as she guides him, showing him how and where to touch her. He is very glad to still have his glasses on. He likes being able to see... every curve, every movement... it so much more than the picture he had in his mind. She leans down, her nipples graze his chest, and she kisses him lightly on the forehead.

 

“Harry,” she says, smiling gently. “Just let go...”

 

And he does. Holding onto her hips, he thrusts clumsily, hard and fast, upwards into her as deep as he can go. All the fear and pain and longing... all gone in one glorious explosion that leaves him shuddering with the aftershocks.

 

***

 

They are wrapped around each other underneath the covers, exhausted. They’ve spent the last half hour exploring one another’s ticklish spots and her abdominal muscles are now aching from the laughter. For the first time since she has known him, he looks so... free.

 

His eyelids are drooping, but he keeps asking for stories from her time at school, about the rules she broke and scrapes she got into. He finds it really funny that Professor Flitwick thought her singing voice so horrible, she was forced to play the toad and lip synch in the Hogwarts Glee Club. Harry didn’t know Hogwarts even had a glee club... he’s been too busy saving the world.

 

It is late. He asks for one more story, one more kiss, one more... She has to be at the Ministry very early in the morning for a department meeting, but she doesn’t care. She’ll simply pour a few drops of pep-up potion in her coffee. Being a Metamorphmagus means never having to explain the dark circles under your eyes.

 

Gently, she removes his glasses and places them on the dresser. He has finally fallen asleep, completely spent. His eyelashes flutter for only a second when she kisses the tip of his nose. She wonders briefly if this experience is something she will later regret. Or worse, something he will regret. But then, she looks at him... his un-furrowed brow and easy smile tell her no matter what may come, this makes everything worth it.


End file.
